I'm finishing off the last of my Clif bar when a message pops up on my car's screen. Connected to my phone, my car's screen dings with a text message from Violet that immediately catches my eye.

My mind starts racing, rifling through all the worst possibilities. A kid probably got hurt and is bleeding out as I drive leisurely to the field. What if Peyton's hurt and she needs me to cart her ass to the hospital? I try to calm myself down as I speed down the street, counting down the seconds until I pull into the parking lot.

Whipping into my space, I scan my surroundings for Violet, Peyton, or any sign of panic. The kids for our practice haven't even arrived yet and everyone seems to be casually walking or talking around field, which makes me feel a bit better. There doesn't seem to be any urgent problem.

I'm going to kill Violet. I ran several stop signs on the way here and my driving record is not something I take lightly. My mind starts racing again, but only to conjure up ways to chew Violet's ass out for worrying me like she had.

Then I see it. Or him, more exactly.

At first, it just seems like Violet and Peyton calmly talking to a parent - the parent's back facing toward me. A very tall, muscular parent. But his dark hair, curling slightly at its overgrown edges, look oddly familiar. And the closed-off way his corded arms seem to be crossed over his broad chest.

No fucking way.

I park in my usual spot and rush to take out my bag from the passenger seat. Of course, the bag's strap gets caught in my door and I spend a few aggravating seconds urging it out. After slinging it over my shoulder, I feel my face already heating up. Just knowing he's in the same vicinity as me does something to me.

Of course, this is the exact moment my brain decides to remind me of the details of last night's dream. If my face wasn't red before, it is now.

I speed toward the spot in the middle of the field where the happy trio are chatting about God-knows-what.

My confidence slowly dwindles as I get closer and closer and his broad frame comes into better focus. All my snarky comments are little more than an afterthought by the time I join the circle, replaced by confusing feelings too similar to the ones I felt this morning. What's wrong with me?

Grayson notices the sudden relief on Violet and Peyton's faces as I approach and he turns just as I slide right beside him, careful not to get caught in his intense gaze.

"Sooo," I drawl, "what's going on here?"

The silence sits for a few uncomfortable seconds before Violet chimes in with an unusually high voice. "Nothing! Nothing at all, Riv. Grayson," she widens her eyes, "was just telling us about how much his little sister loves soccer. Peyton and I think that she has to be the cutest little girl we've ever seen."

I'm uncomfortable seeing and hearing Violet act so sweet. A tiny bit of relief floods through me knowing that I'm not the only one that is weirdly affected by his presence.

It's only at the mention of little Grace that I see her in the corner of my vision, excitedly trying to juggle her own sparkly pink soccer ball by herself. She's inconsistent, but I'm slightly impressed and wholly melted at the sight of her attempting the difficult skill.

"Yeah she's the sweetest. Shows real promise too," Peyton sighs. "Reminds me of when I was her age. A true soccer prodigy."

I roll my eyes at her comment, slightly more relaxed.

I'm surprised when Grayson speaks up, his voice as confident as ever. "I bet Gracie would love to see you guys show her a few moves. I think she gets tired of me trying to help her all the time - she could use a few female role models in her life."

As much as I'd love to help Grace 1-on-1, anger threatens to rise to the brim at the thought of him dismissing me as soon as I arrive. He has quite a nerve to show up like nothing happened and expect me to happily follow his suggestions. But before I start stewing, I realized he's just looking at Violet and Peyton.

He wants to talk with me alone. Or he thinks I suck at soccer so much that he doesn't want me anywhere near his impressionable little sister.

Violet and Peyton look every shade of relieved as they walk over to Grace and start introducing themselves. I can see her little face light up even from a few feet away.

We both watch the three of them interact and pass the ball, standing in an unexpectedly comfortable silence. Grace warms up to Vi and Peyton almost immediately and I can sense the muscles in Grayson's body relax next to me as he watches them. When I look up at him, I swear I see the smallest hint of a smile.

I have to physically stop myself from melting into a puddle. God, Riv, pull yourself together.

"So I was an ass."

I look up toward him, trying to hide the surprise on my face at his admission. "Well I'm not gonna refute that statement."

He chuckles lowly. "You're not going to make this easy on me, are you, Coach?"

I fight my smile. "No sir." I cringe slightly at the playful tone that snuck into my voice. I clear my throat. "So you were saying?...."

"Look." He pauses for a second, finding the two magic words. "I'm sorry."

I can't believe my ears. I don't get my hopes up yet, though.

Grayson continues. "I really shouldn't have blown up on you. In the heat of the moment, I said things I definitely didn't mean about your skill level and your intelligence."

I let the smile grow. I decide to test the waters. "Did Grace help you come up with this apology? Pretty articulate, if I do say so myself."

He laughs again, clearly not offended. "Eh, she only came up with about ninety-five percent of this. But I swear, I really mulled over the other five percent."

So he's capable of an emotion besides rage - humor. Interesting. My smile widens and I shift my position so we're standing face-to-face, not side-by-side. Something possesses me and I confidently hold his stare when his eyes connect with mine. "Well, I accept your apology and I really appreciate it. I'm River. Or Coach River, to the kids. But you're not a kid so...I guess...it's just...River. Or Riv, to my friends."

Wow, I sound like Trevor.

I hold out my hand and, after a few seconds of it hanging awkwardly between us, he takes it in his significantly larger hand. He gives a small shake and flashes me a row of perfect teeth. Call me crazy, but I take it as a genuine one.

Luckily, he doesn't acknowledge my stuttered introduction.

"Grayson." I nod to his introduction like I'd never heard of him or his reputation before. "I have to say, you were a hot topic these last few days in the Maddox household. Gracie was talking my ear off about her really pret—um, talented new soccer coach. I'm pretty sure she's in love with you."

My heart is a puddle. "Well the feeling's mutual." I don't know how I feel about him mentioning love and me saying the feeling is shared. "She's probably the most talented player in the group. She kicks absolute ass."

I push the limits a bit more. "I wonder where she gets that intensity from."

If he's offended by the slight jab, he doesn't show it. "Well, I'll try to be on my best behavior for the rest of the season. I'll be the chill soccer mom. You won't even know I'm here, unless I'm using my good looks to sway the ref."

I almost choke on my own spit when he pretends to flip his nonexistent ponytail.

I imagine him in a Nike tracksuit with an oversized cooler filled with Caprisuns. My cheeks start to hurt from holding back my amusement. "Well, if that's your goal, I'd have to inform you that you missed the after-game snack sign up the other day. You better start brainstorming some good snack ideas or your soccer mom plans are useless."

"Oh yeah, I'll get right on that. I'll bring them raw eggs and protein powder. These kids need to bulk up. You know, I know a guy - I could bring some steroids for the big games. Keep 'em nourished."

This time, I can't hold back the full laugh I let out.

The kids are beginning to roll in, laughing with each other and running onto the field. I see Violet and Peyton lead Grace over to my waiting group so they can start warming up their own team. I know I should probably do the same but I don't want this interaction to end. It seems too good to be true.

"So are you going to stay to watch Grace? If you are, I have to warn you that there's this one dad that gets insanely loud, cheering on his kid," I say, still not breaking eye contact.

"What? I thought this is just practice?"

"It is."

A knowing look falls on his features. "Oh, he's that parent. Tell me his kid's at least good."

"I am one hundred percent sure I should not answer that question. You could have a big mouth, for all I know. Mr. Burns is a large man and I like my face without a black eye."

I start to laugh to myself, then fall quiet, remembering the very-real colors circling his eye. The question lingers in the back of my throat and I hold it back. He clears his throat.

"Well, I should probably go to claim a seat as far away from Mr. Burns as possible. I'd like to preserve my last good eye, ya know?" This time, we both share a knowing, only slightly uncomfortable laugh.

I try not to feel so happy knowing he's staying for the whole hour.

"Bye, Coach," he says softly.

I wave goodbye as casually as possibly and I start walking toward my team, and he toward the bleachers. I quickly glance back and catch him looking back toward me too. I hold my smile back and keep walking.

I mentally prepare myself for the next hour, hoping the knowledge of his presence doesn't affect my coaching too much. Warmup and scrimmage go down without a hitch, and the kids actually seem to be getting better. I watch Grace, in particular, throw her absolute full effort into her playing and start to see the resemblance between her and her big brother. Their dark head of hair. Their fiery, determined eyes.

When practice ends, the kids hug me goodbye as their parents arrive to pick them up. I go over to the bench on the sidelines and lean over to find my water bottle buried in my soccer bag. I'm so concentrated--digging through empty wrappers, KT tape, and forgotten socks--that I don't hear the yells from behind me. The warnings.

In a split second, a hand grips my wrist and pulls me away from my bag. I collide with a hard, warm surface and am too stunned to speak after I'm whipped to the side. A soccer ball whizzes just behind me at a killer speed, eventually hitting the bleachers with a loud thud.

Two hands still grasp both my wrists, holding me close, but I look toward the field. A group of teenage boys are laughing amongst themselves, clearly amused by almost taking my head off.

Then I look up at see Grayson, staring down at me concerned. He's breathing hard, and I assume he ran to get me out of the way. My mind whirs and I take in the situation--me pressed against his tall, muscular body--as he pants above me. My head barely reaches his neck, and he occupies my full field of vision. Holy fucking shit.

I take a step backward, trying to gauge the unreadable expression on his face. I smooth my clothes out, about to say something, when he walks closer the group of boys with a murderous expression on his face.

"Watch where you fucking kick!" He yells at them angrily. They look over toward us, pausing their laughing fit, and fall dead silent. Though they have the numbers, they straighten up and one holds his hands up in surrender. The four of them back away slowly.

"Look, bro, I didn't mean to," the guy stutters, looking at his friends for backup. "Tell your girlfriend I'm sorry."

Grayson turns from them with a slightly less murderous expression, and the boys take that opportunity to run away, glad to be out of that situation. He starts to walk away toward Gracie, who is talking with one of her friends a couple yards away.

"Thanks," I say after him, not knowing what to say. "I've been hit with balls before. It hurts a lot."

Grayson turns and smiles, making me rethink what I just said. I'm quick to add, "I mean, not those balls. Soccer balls. Because I play soccer."

He takes one look at Grace to make sure she's occupied, then turns his body fully toward me. He folds his arms and tilts his head to the side. "I've noticed."

"Cool." Seriously, River?

Grayson laughs and walks back toward me. "Do you know those guys?" He asks.

I look over to where the four of them are goofing off near one of the goals, trying to see who can knock down the posts. I laugh. "No. They're in my grade but I try not to associate with them. I prefer more mature guys."

Amused yet again, he quirks a dark eyebrow. "Mature guys?"

I want to slap myself. "You know what I mean, Grayson."

Grayson shrugs and sits down on the bench next to my bag. I take a seat next to him, pretending to study the darkening sky. I pretend not to realize when Grayson slides closer to me so our legs are almost touching. I become acutely aware of the sweat coating every inch of my skin right now and wish I'd towelled off before this.

"How long have you played soccer?" He asks, breaking the silence. I let out a breath, glad we've settled on an easy topic.

"Since I was four. My parents threw me in head-first and I've loved it ever since." It's the truth.

"What do you love about it?" He asks, and I feel him looking right at me. My face heats up, and I keep my gaze on the sky. "And don't tell me it's because of all the balls coming at you."

I laugh. "And what if that is my favorite part, Grayson? Would you judge me?"

"Yes, I would. Silently." I finally look at him, and he winks at me. Something in me flutters and I swallow it down, keeping my breath steady.

I think about his question about what I love about soccer. No one has ever asked me this before. "It's a very aggressive sport. If you're good enough, you can get away with hurting and humiliating people. It's all in the game."

"Sounds like you have a lot of pent-up aggression."

"I could say the same about you," I say, sending a slightly challenging look his way. He smiles under my pointed gaze. "Touche," he says.

He continues, "So what are you so mad about? What goes through Coach River's mind as she kicks and elbows other girls down the field?"

This time, I can't seem to let the answer out. I'm not sure if I can admit to myself what the answer really is. "Nothing," I lie. "What has you so angry, Grayson?"

It's a loaded question, and we both know it. We stare at each other for a second, letting several types of tension build between us. I swear I see his eyes flit down to my lips, but I tell myself it's probably a trick of the dim light.

"Nothing," he lies.

"Touche," I say, throwing his word back at him. We share a small smile, then fall into silence. Both our hands are resting on the metal between us, and our hands are inching toward each other. I hold my breath, waiting for the warmth of his skin on mine.

Grace runs up to us, dribbling her pink soccer ball. "Gray! Can we go, pretty please? Allison just left and I'm bored. Hi Coach River!"

I return her greeting, sliding away from her brother. Grayson stands up and takes Grace's hand. I spread my lips into a smile, wondering if we'd just had a 'moment'. Then they're both standing in front of me, and Grayson looks like he doesn't want to go.

"I'll see y'all later," I say cooly, trying to hide my desire for them to stay. But Grace is obviously tired, tugging Grayson's hand to leave, and I don't want to keep them here.

"Bye, River," Grayson says, starting to walk away with Gracie.  I hate the way my heart flips at him calling me by my first name. It's not like he's a kid, of course he wouldn't call me 'Coach River'. So why am I so happy about that two-word farewell? I give a small wave and watch as he carefully helps Grace into her booster seat.

Just before he gets into the car, Grayson looks at me. Then his head disappears inside the car, and I can't justify why I feel flustered.

This time, the eyes that are painted into my memory aren't full of fury or vengeance. They're the same grey eyes - but this time filled with something that only fuels a light feelings in my chest.